


galaxies collide

by Regency



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Berena Valentine, F/F, Ficlet, Friends to Lovers, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:47:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22727860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regency/pseuds/Regency
Summary: Canon AU. The first time Bernie and Serena kiss as lovers is not the first time they kiss.
Relationships: Serena Campbell/Bernie Wolfe
Comments: 22
Kudos: 90





	galaxies collide

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something short and sweet about these two fools who'd fall in love in any universe. This universe is a bit different from ours but I hope you enjoy anyway. Happy Valentine's Day, Berena fandom!

* * *

_Your hand touching mine. This is how galaxies collide._

-Sanober Khan-

* * *

The first time Bernie and Serena kiss as lovers is not the first time they kiss.

Their first kiss is spin the bottle taken to wine-drunk extremes at Bernie's place on movie night. Neither remembers the kiss in the morning, or the movie, and they vow never to indulge so flagrantly again--a blatant lie.

Their second kiss all comfort. Bernie's favorite cousin passes suddenly in an unnamed incident in London. Bernie keeps herself together all shift. It's at Serena's afterwards that goes to pieces. During Countdown she answers a science question Kate would have known. It's the reminder which breaks her.

Serena shepherds Bernie to her bedroom, leaving Jason to his programme, and they lie side by side in the dark whilst Bernie talks at length about the brilliant cousin she loved. Still loves. Misses Iike a lost limb.

Once she drops into a fitful doze, Serena tucks her into her luxurious bedclothes to recuperate. A grieving woman deserves to be spoilt, if you ask her. Bernie deserves at least that. Serena leaves her with a kiss on her furrowed brow. She doesn't see it in the darkened room, but the sorrow etched in grooves on Bernie's sleeping face eases a touch as she departs.

They kiss at birthdays, lips to cheek, celebrating the passage of time that seasons them, marking them delectable, as Serena's friend Sian says.

To celebrate they go dancing with Fleur Fanshawe, neither of their scene, and have entirely too much fun after splitting a Blue Lagoon. Fleur swears later someone danced on tables topless but refuses to name who.

When Serena finds a blurry video of her sozzled self bussing the glowing face of a honking Bernie Wolfe in some overbright nightclub, she stares at it fervently for days. She can't remember ever seeing Bernie so happy. Or herself.

They kiss differently at funerals and vigils, at memorial services for the lost: hands entwined like blushing pilgrims, gripping solace for dear life. They huddle from grief, close as children, two united against the cold, hard world. Faces buried in each other's shoulders, coats gripped to creases in hand. Tears hidden. Burdens shared.

Patients, comrades, former lovers, and shared friends vanish into the ether, afterimages almost the instant they appear. They have each other in the end; everything else is mist.

Their next kiss is Christmas-themed to the tune of Bing Crosby and poorly harmonized carolers caterwauling out of doors.

Fletch has scattered mistletoe everyplace, catching them all unawares. It's a minefield of liability, Serena's told him. Still, the shrubs have persisted and there are greater crises to mind.

Bernie's been content to ignore the affair altogether and would continue to but for a rather too pushy Holby Trust donor coaxing Serena under the bundle.

Serena is being politic but firm in refusing to oblige. They need this donor for the trauma unit to expand to include a new bay. Serena is playing the game to win whereas Bernie plays for her.

Marching over, Bernie sends her an apologetic look that is all the warning Serena gets before their lips meet. Serena jerks against her mouth and their teeth clack. Bernie's face grows hot. Somehow she'd thought kissing Serena would go differently.

The donor leaves them when the inelegant mashing of lips continues past propriety. _Probably a no to that donation_ , Bernie thinks. Doesn't quite mind. They'll make do.

They part, finally, and Bernie can't look at Serena whereas Serena can't find it in her to speak. There aren't words to say.

"Don't think he'll try that again," Bernie states before stalking away to the locker room for a breakdown born of mortification.

Serena is left touching her mouth on the ward, bewildered. Curious despite herself. They don't discuss the kiss the following day, and neither is captured beneath the mistletoe again. On Boxing Day, the parasites disappear and nothing more is said.

Their next kiss is New Year's Eve at Albie's, counting down the seconds till tonight is relegated to yesteryear, becoming firmly a thing of the past. They both crave new beginnings to supplant the bitter endings each still stings from. They're ready for joy to supplant grief, possibility to replace loss, for victory to overtake the ache of defeat.

Serena has strapped a shiny green foil top hat on Bernie to get her in the spirit. Serena herself has donned a tinsel crown. They harangue each other with noisemakers to pass the time and argue over the utility of New Year's resolutions. Bernie thinks they're an opportunity to turn over a new leaf; Serena believes they're rubbish lies people tell themselves in the face of advancing age. They agree on one point of order: what you're doing at midnight on New Year's, you'll be doing all year.

With ten seconds to year's end, Bernie absorbs the irrepressible woman who's become a vital part of her life. Her friend and confidant. Her comfort in sorrow and partner in mischief. A person she cannot see herself without. Not this year or any year afterward.

She captures Serena's notice with a tap on the shoulder and kisses her in the middle of Albie's. Bodies press in one them, jostling in excitement, shouting the numbered seconds that remain. Out with the old, in with the future.

Bernie sweats under her collar, burning up--a hot flash, nerves, searing anticipation. Desire. Terror jangling through her.

There are no excuses.

At six seconds 'til, Serena kisses her back, her mouth slanting under Bernie's, her lips parted in surprise that slides into enthusiastic consent. She molds herself to Bernie's embrace: Her hands stake claims on Bernie's body; plant invisible, immovable flags on Bernie's back, her ribs; make inroads to her waist. Serena kisses like she argues, like she heals, fiercely committing body and soul. Bernie's body and Bernie's soul, she drafts.

They kiss until December ends.

It feels like years.

Two minutes into January, with Bernie's unflavored lip balm fresh on her lips, Serena declares Bernie will never be rid of her now she's done that.

"Good," Bernie says, breathless. Rapt. "I never want to be."

Bernie's determined this resolution will be real. She'll make it true.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at Tumblr [here](https://sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com/post/190832810585/fic-galaxies-collide-berena).


End file.
